“Stop!” I shout at Thyra, keeping my palm raised at her.
And she does.
She crashes to the ground. Rolling, limbs everywhere. Dust flies in all directions. Ragnhild sprints forward, holding her hands out to her mother.
“Mama!” she shouts.
“Stay back!” I shout at Ragnhild, holding my palm up to her this time. But she ignores me, arriving at her mother’s side.
Thyra lies on her back. Spluttering. Choking on her own blood. Her own knife is stuck in her chest, right between her ribs. It stopped at its hilt. Ragnhild pulls at her mother’s shoulder. Wailing.
Thyra turns her face to her. She smiles. Coughs blood. Ragnhild leans forward, putting her ear to her mother’s mouth. I’m not sure how, but I know Thyra is whispering somethingto her daughter. Or is it Thyra at all? It could be the witch. That unholy fucking witch. Let it be Thyra, not the witch. Freya, please.
Thyra’s entire body shakes violently.
“No!” shrieks Ragnhild. “Don’t go!”
Her mother lies back. Perfectly still. Dead. Everyone stands frozen. Only Ragnhild’s sobs fill the air.
I will be blamed. How will I live with this? At least there are witnesses.
Ragnhild holds Thyra’s cheeks, shaking her head from side to side. A free woman steps forward, kneeling and placing a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. Ragnhild smacks it off without looking away from her dead mother.
“Wake up!” she screams. “Come back!”
Ragnhild places her forehead against Thyra’s. I hear her muttering, probably a prayer. She stands and turns to face me, covered in blood.
Her eyes burn with an all-consuming rage. This can’t be undone. Gone is the child I knew. This is not the cute girl who offered me berries. Gone is her innocence. Ragnhild’s twisted face sends an icy cold finger running down my spine. Hate. Pure hatred.
“You witch!” she screams as she points a finger at me. “You filthy witch!”
The woman tries to embrace the little girl, to hold her back. But Ragnhild screams and shakes her off, swinging wildly to make her step back.
She points at me again.
“I curse you, Kilda witch!” she shrieks, her face, hands and clothes covered in her mother’s blood. “I curse all you love!”
I take a step back, unable to take my eyes away from the blood-covered girl. A child’s curse. The gods may listen. This isit. This is the end. There is no going back. Thyra’s curse, so old. So cold. Frost. Rock and ice.
“I didn’t do any?—”
“Murderer! You filthy murderer!”
“No, I?—”
“I curse all you love!” screams the girl, her voice echoing across the mountains. “You will die!”
It’s all over. It’s all lost. Innocent, but I will never be forgiven. I turn on my heel. An impulse I follow. How can I face this child? How can I explain? I run toward my house, hearing Ragnhild’s voice behind me.
“You will burn!”
CHAPTER 74
Idon’t remember how I got home.
One second Ragnhild is shouting how I will burn, how all I love will die. The next I am stumbling through my own doorway. My lungs are on fire. I sit and fill a cup with water. My throat is dry as sand.
It has come to this. I can’t keep my eyes away from the door. Only a thin piece of wood separates me from the wrath of the valley. They could come crashing through, stabbing me with their iron.
